The Doctor and the Archangel
by The Red Celt
Summary: Masskink fill: Garrus gets badly beaten by Garm, the leader of the Blood Pack on Omega. He goes to Doctor Mordin Solus for help, and the two find out that they have a lot more in common than they thought. Some violence and language.


Mass effect kinkmeme fill from this prompt: . ?thread=18921116#t18921116

Hope you like it!

* * *

Garrus lay on the cold metal floor in a forgotten corner of the wards, his body wracked with pain, wondering how the hell it had all nose-dived so quickly.

The krogan's signature red armor glinted darkly under the pools of light thrown in tight circles by the lamps overhead. He was alone, for once, his backup nowhere to be seen. It was a temptation too strong to let go. Garrus had followed him to a mostly uninhabited wing in the residential districts before firing a concussive shot into Garm's back. He stumbled forward under the impact and Garrus used that momentary weakness to pounce, knocking the top-heavy krogan off-balance and wrenching at the chinks in his armor to get at his opponent's flesh.

Garm threw him off with surprising force and jumped to his feet, the two of them circling each other, looking for an opening. Garm charged, and Garrus jumped to the side, digging his razor-sharp talons into his neck and using his own momentum to drive him into the wall hard enough to leave a deep gash in the wall. They'd grappled, the krogan's powerful legs threatening to topple the much more nimble turian, and Garrus had dug and clawed at him, ripping at him with his teeth when he could, throwing punches and landing kicks, tearing out hunks of flesh that filled in before his eyes and breaking bones that knit together almost immediately.

It was right around that time Garrus realized he'd made a terrible mistake grappling with this battlemaster, but he was in too close to extricate himself without risking serious injury.

Garm's blows lacked grace, but when he connected the force was enough to dent and crack Garrus' armor. The krogan was beginning to slow from blood loss—his red armor was dripping with it, making him slippery—and Garrus was beginning to think that he might just be able to get far enough away to get to his gun when a pair of vorcha rounded the corner, saw the situation, and immediately attacked Garrus, who ended up on the floor, wrestling with the psychotic body guards.

One of them latched his needle-like teeth into his mandible, yanking on it and sending a blinding wave of agony crashing through Garrus' head, and Garm was sitting on his chest pummeling his ribs and stomach and bellowing with rage. Garrus was just able to reach the Carnifex and jerk it out from under him, bringing it up with lightning speed under Garm's chin and blowing a hole in his head that knocked him unconscious but started to heal almost immediately. He made short work of the vorcha soon after, painting the hallway with their blood and shoving their limp bodies away as his breath ripped through his damaged throat.

Garm was groaning, not quite conscious yet. Garrus knew he had to get moving, but where? His team was too far away, there were no safe houses in the vicinity, the Omega clinic was out of the question; Garm's people would be looking for a beat-up turian and he couldn't risk—

The clinic. Doctor Mordin Solus. If he remembered correctly, the good doctor's apartment was only a few blocks from here. Since he couldn't come up with any other ideas through the red haze of agony that had constricted around his body, it would have to be Doctor Solus.

Garrus slowly boosted himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth so hard he tasted blood (although that could have been from his mandible, which was dislocated and hung at an unnatural angle). His entire midsection blazed with pain making him gasp for breath as he picked himself up off the floor and swayed, trying not to pass out. He leaned against the wall and dragged himself down the dim hallway, praying to the Spirits that he'd be able to make it there before he passed out.

When he finally reached the door an eternity later, he found that Doctor Solus wasn't there. He'd been expecting that—the old salarian kept himself very busy at his clinic—so he propped himself against the doorway while he hacked the door with his omnitool. It hissed open and Garrus started to enter but his knees buckled and he fell, his face slamming against the floor. The color was quickly draining out of the room and he was just able to pull himself forward far enough for the door to close again before everything went black.

* * *

It had been a long day and Doctor Mordin Solus was looking forward to getting some long-overdue sleep. He may not need much to get by, but now his bones ached with exhaustion. Several patients had been coming in recently with unexplainable mutations to their respiratory systems and he was working to find a cure. The first time he'd seen it he'd been flummoxed, and that was enough to give him pause right there. It had been such a long time since he'd had a challenge and the scientist in him was looking forward to the opportunity to work with more samples. The rest of him was hell-bent on finding a cure for this strange, obviously lab-born infection before it turned into a plague.

He opened the door and tripped over the blue armored turian sprawled out on the floor. Springing into action, he gently rolled him over onto his back. Upon seeing the extent of the turian's injuries, he started to send a message back to the clinic for a stretcher but a gauntleted hand gripped his wrist. Mordin looked down at the turian, whose blue eyes were glassy but aware.

"No . . . clinic. Blood Pack . . . hunting me."

Mordin considered for a moment, then nodded. "Could set up here, enough supplies to get started. Must first remove armor, see damage." The turian began weakly fumbling for the latches of his armor, but Mordin moved his hands away and laid them at his sides. His slender fingers undid the clasps and removed piece after piece, setting them aside in a neat pile until nothing but a cloth undersuit remained. That had to be cut off and peeled back, the dark fabric tacky with drying blood.

"Discoloration of protective plating suggests multiple contusions, lacerations on collar ridge and punctures—vorcha, interesting—left mandible dislocated, cracked chest plate, broken ribs. Mentioned Blood Pack, could only be Garm's work."

The turian groaned. "Good guess, Doctor."

"Comes with the territory. Spent time in Special Tasks Group, can recognize battle wounds when I see them. What is your name?"

"G . . ." he grunted in pain as he tried to say his name with a busted mandible, "Garrus. Vakarian."

"Doctor Mordin Solus, assume you knew that already, though." He went to his desk and grabbed his medical bag, then gave Garrus a sedative before going to work on the worst of his injuries. It took the better part of an hour before he was done, and he sat back to examine his handiwork. It was a quick and dirty patch job, but it was the best he could do without taking him to the clinic. He got a spare pillow and blanket from the closet and got his patient as comfortable as possible before going to bed himself and falling asleep.

* * *

When Garrus woke, he heard humming coming from somewhere off to the left. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it, collapsing back with a gasp. The humming stopped and there were light footfalls on the carpeted floor coming closer.

"Ah, Garrus. Awake, I see. You've been out about 16 hours. May have gone overboard with the sedative. Hmmm." He felt cool fingers prodding his ribs and turning his head from side to side. "Yes, these will set nicely. Wounds healing quickly."

"Thanks, Doctor, for everything. And for letting me stay here."

Mordin sat down next to Garrus on the floor. "Meant to ask about that. Tangling with Blood Pack not a good idea. Krogan regenerate fast, but Garm is a special case. Amazing you made it here alive. What were you doing fighting him in the first place?" The salarian's huge black pupils bored into him with manic intensity.

"I came here to . . . make things better for the people of Omega. I wanted to make a difference; thought I'd start in the one place that needed it most."

"Ah. An optimist. Rare, here on Omega. Still, wrestling krogans not a good idea. Ends badly most of the time."

"Yeah, I'm just figuring that out," said Garrus with a weak chuckle. Even short conversation was too much for him; he was exhausted and aching all over.

"You'll need time to heal, a few days at least. Welcome to stay here as long as you need to." Mordin stood and went back to his desk, working diligently before an elaborate computer setup the purpose of which Garrus could only begin to guess.

"What's an ex-STG salarian doing on Omega, anyway?"

Mordin paused for a moment, then said over his shoulder, "Wanted to make a difference. Suppose we are not so different, you and I."

"No, suppose not."

He lay there for a while before Mordin's humming lulled him back to sleep.

* * *

The bruising around his midsection had finally gone down and he was able to pull himself up and lean his back against the wall. He still felt like hammered shit, but he was getting better. It wouldn't be too long before he would be able to leave and not a moment too soon—the inactivity was starting to get to him. He longed to get back to work and spent a lot of his time formulating a plan to get back at Garm, that hard-assed son-of-a-bitch. Mordin was away much of the time, but during the time he was there they sat face to face on the floor talking. The Doctor's speed-rap was a little jarring sometimes, but Garrus found he enjoyed the mental gymnastics required to keep up.

"Vigilante work difficult, doesn't pay well," mused Mordin. "Wondering what was the catalyst for a move here. Ex-C-Sec usually has trouble adjusting to general lawlessness of Omega."

"Right on both counts. As for my reasons . . ." he stopped, wondering just how much he should tell him. He hadn't talked about it since it happened almost two years ago. "I thought if I came here and wiped some of the scum off this station that it'd make an old friend proud of me."

"Hmmm. Detect sadness, regret. Friend is . . . no longer with us?"

"No. She died, spaced over Alchera. Her ship crash landed, but no one found the body."

"I'm sorry." Mordin looked down at his hands and said, "I have similar reasons for coming here. I had a brother, Marlon. Good soldier, member of my unit. We were on a mission to take out a group of batarian raiders, one threw a grenade into our cover. Marlon threw me out of the way. Blast killed him."

They sat in silence for a long time, deep in their own respective pasts. "You ever miss it? Working with the STG?" Garrus asked.

"Clinic and mercs enough to keep me occupied, but I miss the company. Something about being with people who know your story, reassuring."

"I know what you mean." Garrus brought his knees up in front of him, his hands dangling between his legs. "When I was on the Normandy, with her, we were invincible. Even though the odds were against us, even though no one believed we would win, she would turn around and look at me and—" he had to swallow past a lump in his throat, "—and smile, and you just knew things would work out. She was like a force of nature."

"She sounds like an incredible woman."

"She really was."

Garrus appraised the unassuming man across from him. He was old for a salarian, one of his horns broken off near the base. He possessed a scathingly brilliant mind and a mouth that tried desperately to keep up. He was a legend among the people of Omega for his clinic, which had a policy of taking everyone and refusing payment. A few members of his team had been there before to get patched up after a mission and they'd commented on the Doctor's bedside manner, which could go from detached and clinical to quietly reassuring in the space of a few seconds. And now here he was, taking the presence of a wounded turian in his private apartment in stride without a single comment. He was certainly a unique character.

"Doctor Solus—"

"Please, call me Mordin."

"Mordin, I know you're busy down in the wards. Not that I don't appreciate talking to you, but why do you bother with me?"

Mordin blinked at him. "Medigel and band-aids only part of healing process for some. Psychological issues also necessary to work through."

"You trying to say something, Doctor?" Garrus asked, his tone wary.

"Behavior that led to injury reckless, impulsive. Turian military background, would assume you know that. To heal the body but ignore the mind could be . . . catastrophic."

Garrus had a retort all ready, but something had struck home with him. He'd come to Omega right after hearing the news about Shepard with hardly a second thought. The work was difficult at times, but gratifying. Over time, though, he'd started taking on more and more dangerous missions, given less thought to his own safety. His recent throw down with Garm had been the last of a long list of crazy things he'd done lately.

"Go on . . ." Garrus grumbled.

"Mentioned a woman, deceased. Strong emotional response when speaking of her. Assume you had feelings for her, maybe love? Unclear."

Garrus didn't trust himself to talk, so he just stared at the floor and nodded.

"Came to Omega to carry on her memory." It wasn't a question. Garrus nodded again. "Wish to join her?"

"What, suicide? I'm not trying to kill myself." Was he?

"Still, disregard for self indicator of underlying desire to inflict pain upon oneself. Observation only, Garrus, did not mean to offend."

"No, it's fine." He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, suddenly tired again. "I'm beginning to think you may have a point."

"Usually do." Mordin reached out and laid a hand on Garrus' arm. "Death never easy to accept, especially the deaths of those we love. Gets easier over time, but pain never goes away. Pain is good, though. Pain reminds us that they were real."

"Yeah," Garrus said. His voice cracked and he swallowed back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I just wanted to do something to . . . make her proud of me. You know?"

Mordin hummed in agreement. "Do you know anything about Earth Abrahamic religions?"

The sudden change of direction made Garrus look up at Mordin, confusion clear on his face. "No, can't say that I do, Doc."

"Fascinating religion. Primitive, to be sure, holy text written before existence of modern technology. Stories fascinating, many colorful characters. One in particular—Michael, rose up during the war in heaven to defeat forces of evil."

Garrus chuckled. "Sounds familiar. Didn't figure you for a religious man, Mordin."

"Not religious, interest for academic reasons only. Much of human history revolved around religion until First Contact War. Only mention it because it reminds me of you. Fighting mercs, saving the helpless, one might call you an angel."

The Doctor's gaze bored into him like he was trying to see into his head. Garrus went very still and met Mordin's eyes with his own, blue on black.

"An angel, huh?"

"Yes, Michael was Archangel in service of God."

There was a long silence, then Garrus said, "You're very well-read for a salarian geneticist, Mordin." He tried to keep his voice even, not give anything away.

"Always helps to be knowledgeable about those under your care," he said. The unspoken questions hung in the air between them:

_Do you know?_

_Are you really Archangel?_

_Will you tell anyone?_

Suddenly Mordin nodded to himself and stood up, going to his desk and grabbing a datapad. "Must get back to the clinic, close to cure for spreading respiratory infection. See that you get some sleep. And Garrus?" He smiled and winked at his patient. "Remember, we're not so different, you and I." And with that, he left.

* * *

All told, it took six days before Garrus was well enough to leave Mordin's apartment. During that time they talked a lot about old missions; Garrus and the battle against Saren, Mordin's involvement in developing the krogan genophage. In six days they'd become friends, and respected allies.

Garrus latched himself back into his armor; it was still scratched and dented to hell, but going without it on Omega was out of the question. He was still favoring his right leg, the left thigh having been fractured by Garm's massive bulk, and his left mandible was secured to his face to allow the connective tissues time to strengthen again, but he was anxious to get back out on the streets doing what he did best. For her.

Mordin offered his hand and Garrus shook it gladly. "Thank you, Mordin. If there's ever anything I can do for you, let me know."

"Your continued health will be payment enough. Has been a pleasure speaking with you."

"Same here." There was really nothing else to say. He left and started down the hall that would lead back to his own apartment when he heard Mordin call out to him.

"What was her name?"

"Shepard. Jane Shepard."

"Hmmm." He stared off into the middle distance, then focused on Garrus again. "Will be here if you need me."

They parted, neither knowing that they would be meeting again sooner than they expected.

* * *

A few weeks later, aboard the Normandy, the two friends met again in Mordin's brand spandy new lab. Quite the change from the dark underbelly that was Omega, to be sure.

"You know, Mordin, I've been wondering something for a long time now."

"Oh?"

"How long did you know?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," said Mordin with a sly glint in his eye that suggested he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"That I was Archangel."

"Knew about that before you ended up in my apartment. Had a network of spies, too, you know. Better than yours." He sniffed sharply. "Love being right."

Garrus laughed long and hard at that, clapped his old friend on the shoulder, and went back to his calibrations in the main battery.


End file.
